NOT THIS TIME..
Here,
Apply this red lipstick, and don't forget to keep your succelent lips less moist,
Unbutton the upper layer,
No, not that way
Bend,
A little more
A little down
Aah, don't hide it!
Your cleavage is meant to be revealed..
At 16, I was getting trained the art of letting men knock my door..
I have been fooled all this while for that day I witnessed real starvation, In his eyes.
In his eyes were those X-ray balls glaring my soon to be impure body.
In his eyes was a sight of hunger which that half torn vested boy downside the road would get ashamed of.
In his eyes was irritation making me realize that I was taking too much time to unhook.
But that lady told him na it was my first time..
"Don't worry
I am here,
It's not going to be bad
You are going to enjoy it
Just go with the flow
repeat what I do, what I say."
What you say?
I don't clearly remember but did you ask me to cry, then why are these tears rolling down?
Did you ask me to clutch that bedsheet tight because I am feeling my own nails?
Did you ask me to remain silent and not kick you because that's all my thoughts are wondering about?
Did you ask me to howl in that washroom for the fucking whole day?
And did you ask me to lose my own identity, my self respect, my pride, my oneness, or myself? Because that's what I remember I did..
At 23, I mastered this art of pleasing men.
No more cries,
No more pain,
Just more men!
Sometimes those drunkards claiming to be mine
Oh, my body to be theirs.
Sometimes those husbands lobbing all the anger on me.
Many a times, those men double my age or even thrice my age had all the fun with me.
Do I need to mention that ''me'' is referred to "my body" everytime, no right?
I was habitual with the belief of being a toy
And respect my friends,
That was an unfamiliar word in my rugged dictionary..
Yet, after seven years, I cried today
I felt the same pain what I experienced on my first day,
I grasped the bedsheet tight enough, yet again.
The only difference was
I talked tonight..
He came in like all the others.
In his eyes were two balls, gleaming to be seen.
And his head bent enough
to avoid what I was allowed to never hide!
What was he doing?
Was he just playing or was that a trick or yeah, he might be just making me waste my time!
He stayed and sat before I could ask him to leave.
Wait, what?
Did he just go to the washroom and weep?
In no time, together we cried
Too loud to let the players in the other rooms get affected!
Too loud to let the whole brothel consider we were having the best time
Because yes we were!
We were having the best time shouting, crying, then sobbing and wailing, and ending with just chattering.. Or maybe it was just me who spoke.
You see unfaithful husbands and you start questioning the notion of love,
How can you trust the men when they call their wives in front of you and tell they love them after paying you?
Responding to all my truths was a painful task for him, yet he was there sitting right beside me, his hand in mine, but speechless.
But how come he knew that escorts need their hands to be held too?
How come he knew that this heart overwhelms too?
And, how come I had the best feeling today while paying him for this night?
By Ritika Arora
Here,
Apply this red lipstick, and don't forget to keep your succelent lips less moist,
Unbutton the upper layer,
No, not that way
Bend,
A little more
A little down
Aah, don't hide it!
Your cleavage is meant to be revealed..
At 16, I was getting trained the art of letting men knock my door..
I have been fooled all this while for that day I witnessed real starvation, In his eyes.
In his eyes were those X-ray balls glaring my soon to be impure body.
In his eyes was a sight of hunger which that half torn vested boy downside the road would get ashamed of.
In his eyes was irritation making me realize that I was taking too much time to unhook.
But that lady told him na it was my first time..
"Don't worry
I am here,
It's not going to be bad
You are going to enjoy it
Just go with the flow
repeat what I do, what I say."
What you say?
I don't clearly remember but did you ask me to cry, then why are these tears rolling down?
Did you ask me to clutch that bedsheet tight because I am feeling my own nails?
Did you ask me to remain silent and not kick you because that's all my thoughts are wondering about?
Did you ask me to howl in that washroom for the fucking whole day?
And did you ask me to lose my own identity, my self respect, my pride, my oneness, or myself? Because that's what I remember I did..
At 23, I mastered this art of pleasing men.
No more cries,
No more pain,
Just more men!
Sometimes those drunkards claiming to be mine
Oh, my body to be theirs.
Sometimes those husbands lobbing all the anger on me.
Many a times, those men double my age or even thrice my age had all the fun with me.
Do I need to mention that ''me'' is referred to "my body" everytime, no right?
I was habitual with the belief of being a toy
And respect my friends,
That was an unfamiliar word in my rugged dictionary..
Yet, after seven years, I cried today
I felt the same pain what I experienced on my first day,
I grasped the bedsheet tight enough, yet again.
The only difference was
I talked tonight..
He came in like all the others.
In his eyes were two balls, gleaming to be seen.
And his head bent enough
to avoid what I was allowed to never hide!
What was he doing?
Was he just playing or was that a trick or yeah, he might be just making me waste my time!
He stayed and sat before I could ask him to leave.
Wait, what?
Did he just go to the washroom and weep?
In no time, together we cried
Too loud to let the players in the other rooms get affected!
Too loud to let the whole brothel consider we were having the best time
Because yes we were!
We were having the best time shouting, crying, then sobbing and wailing, and ending with just chattering.. Or maybe it was just me who spoke.
You see unfaithful husbands and you start questioning the notion of love,
How can you trust the men when they call their wives in front of you and tell they love them after paying you?
Responding to all my truths was a painful task for him, yet he was there sitting right beside me, his hand in mine, but speechless.
But how come he knew that escorts need their hands to be held too?
How come he knew that this heart overwhelms too?
And, how come I had the best feeling today while paying him for this night?
By Ritika Arora
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